Fight and Flight
by JIBBSFOREVER in Paris
Summary: Sequel to "It Can't Be Happening" Jenny has to deal with all the stress from the ordeal she went through, help Kyrie through her own issues, and Gibbs has to fight to keep what he can't bear to lose. Ziva and Tony are pulled as both Gibbs and Jenny take a fighting stance against each other.
1. Chapter 1

McGee hated tension.

And the bullpen was tense.

In fact.

Tense wasn't a strong enough word.

Tony and Ziva just sat in their desk and stared at their computers. Doing nothing.

Tim just sat. Also staring at his screen.

Well. Staring at his computer in between taking glances at the boss.

Well. Both bosses.

Director Shepard and Gibbs stood at the windows. The director had him against the wall. Her body language matched the look on her face since she had come in that morning – head held confident; shoulders squared; her high heels seeing like daggers just waiting for an excuse to attack her prey.

And Gibbs. He held his own too. He was facing the bullpen. So they could all see his facial expression. Jaw squarely set – eyes angry and hostile – the Gibbs stare taking full effect.

It was just too painful to watch.

And too painful not to watch.

Finally something they could hear.

Director Shepard said, "Well, two can fight at this game." And with that last word, she angrily started up the stairs to her office.

If looks could kill, the director would have been shot dead in the back, with the look that Gibbs was giving her.

Then he looked at the agents in the bullpen.

And they all pretended to be busy doing something – hoping that he wouldn't notice how little work was actually getting done.

But they assumed he hadn't noticed when he pulled his desk drawer open so hard that he tipped over the pen holder, spilling pens all over the floor. He skillfully attached his gun to his side, grabbed his badge, and stomped out the door. Before he walked onto the elevator, he looked up, where the director was watching. And he … well… flipped her off just as the elevator doors closed.

And the tension… it just …. Well… it just was tense.

And Tony.

"Wow. Anyone else feeling very uncomfortable? I mean, I've walked in on people having sex and felt less awkward than I do right now."

The first person to say anything in response was the director from up on the walkway. "It's about to get even worse Dinozzo, if you don't get back to work."

And that's how they found themselves pretending to work on stuff – with actually nothing left to work through.


	2. Chapter 2

Jenny slammed the door to her office, without thought for Cynthia at her desk right outside. Throwing her briefcase onto the sofa a little harder than was necessary, she leaned her back against the door, defeated but still angry.

She clenched her hands into fists as she thought about his smug face. _Jethro, you asshole._ The nerve he had shocked even her.

Suddenly her phone rang. She walked slowly over to her desk, trying to take the anger from her tone as she answered, "Director Shepard"

"Director, there's a man here to see you." Cynthia's voice came over the headset. Jenny rolled her eyes, knowing she had just stomped past whoever had been waiting to see her – Jethro had a way of making her so angry.

"Send him in, Cynthia." She said, and sat at her desk, trying as much as possible to not appear to be angry – the last thing this man needed was to see her angry twice in the span of two minutes.

A short, young man walked into the room carrying a folder in his hand. His confidence was something Jenny wasn't used to – most people felt some kind of hesitancy at entering the director's office. But he walked quickly over to her desk, and asked, "Are you Jennifer Shepard?"

Confused, because he had come to see her in her office. She said, "Yes."

He extended the folder for her to take from him, and when she reached up to take it from him, he looked right into her eyes, and said, "Jennifer Shepard, you've been served."

When she took the folder, stunned, he turned and left just as quickly and confidently as he entered. Jenny just sat there. Stunned.

No idea what this could be involving, she tore open the folder, to find legal papers. Legal papers with her name on them. Hers. And Jethro's.

Her hands started shaking. So badly she could barely finish reading the papers. Her breathing escalated, and her eyes began running down the page.

Custody papers.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was suing her.

For custody of Kyrie.

It took a moment for that to register. _He's trying to take her away from you._ She thought, and immediately she went into mother mode. Without thought, she reached into her desk and expertly took her gun and holstered it to her hip, thankful she had worn dress pants to work instead of that dress she had originally tried. She grabbed her coat from off of the chair, her briefcase from the couch, made sure her keys were in the case, and ran out the door, yelling something she hoped Cynthia would understand about an emergency. She ran down to the bullpen, and she just knew he wouldn't be there. She caught the elevator, down to the parking garage. And she sped out of that garage faster than she would have ever imagined.


	3. Chapter 3

"I really don't need therapy." She said.

But the therapist didn't seem to understand plain English. Because she just wouldn't stop trying to get Kyrie to talk

"Why don't you?" Her voice just annoyed Kyrie, it was just a calm, low voice, almost as if she had practiced for her voice to be a calming technique for her patients or something. The therapist had long curly hair, and her eyes matched her hair, brown, like chocolate. But deeper. And, just maybe, able to see into her soul. That was when Kyrie realized that she was staring deep into her therapist's eyes, which probably made her seem really crazy.

"Ms. Therapist, I just don't think that…"

The therapist laughed, interrupted her, and asked her, "Did you seriously just call me 'Ms. Therapist?'"

Kyrie nodded, "I couldn't remember your name, and…" the laughter was sort of catching, and she chuckled as she said, "I thought that sounded somewhat appropriate."

"My name is Dr. Turner." She said, "But please call me Violet."

 _Violet is a pretty name._ Kyrie thought. "Ok. Violet. I don't think I need to be here." She said, getting back to the issue at hand.

"Well, if you can tell me just why you don't need to be here anymore, and the reasons seem legitimate to me, your therapist, then maybe I can send you home early?" Violet said, still watching her as if she was going to break into tears anytime.

 _But I just don't want to talk about this right now. Please don't make me._ "I had some traumatic things happen to me. I survived. The end."

Violet didn't say anything for what seemed like an hour. She just sat there, looking off into space. Like she was thinking of something. But it didn't seem like there was anything to think about. Because Kyrie knew her answer was bullshit. No therapist would let her leave with that little of talking about what had happened. Just the reason she couldn't talk about it made Kyrie knew she hadn't gotten over it yet. Kyrie knew that this wasn't over yet.

But why hadn't Violet said anything yet?

Kyrie asked, "So can I go?"

Violet didn't change her staring off into space except she turned her head to be staring at Kyrie. "What do you think?"

Now Kyrie knew she wasn't going anywhere. "So do you just ask people what they think all day long? Is that what you get paid to do? Listen to people's problems?"

Violet just nodded, and said, "Yep. That helps some people."

"Well it doesn't help me." Kyrie said, starting to get anxious that there was no way she was going to get out of this. Her hands clenched into fists under the pillow that she was holding. "I don't like to talk to people."

She smiled. "I can see that. How about you try just telling me a story."

"Does it have to be real?"

Violet shrugged her shoulders, and Kyrie started to respect the therapist, no matter how much she didn't want to be here, she began to understand that Violet knew exactly what Kyrie was doing. "Whatever you want to talk about, I'm here to listen for…" She looked at her watch, "52 more minutes."

Kyrie couldn't believe it had only been eight minutes since she had come to the office. And she began to vent about something that she knew wouldn't lead to the trauma. "My mother! Why does she think I need help anyway? What's with her? She's the one who had bad things happen to her. I was perfectly fine. I didn't have to go to the hospital. I didn't need teams to come rescue me. What the hell does she think I need help with?" She started to get worked up, remembering her mother forcing the issue that she needed her to go to counseling. "I mean, what does she think, that I'm broken? That I'm not good enough the way that I am?"

Kyrie stopped right at the end of that question. _Wow. What a lot of words for someone who didn't have anything to talk about._ And apparently Dr. Turner thought the same thing.

"If you had kids, who had gone through everything you went through, would you want them to go to some sort of therapy or counseling?" Violet asked, steering Kyrie's mind away from all that she had blurted out to the hypothetical.

Kyrie didn't have to think at all. "No. I wouldn't."

"Are you sure you wouldn't feel like a bad parent if your child was hurting and didn't have anyway to express that hurt?"

This time, Kyrie thought. But it wasn't about her hypothetical kids. It was about her.

"I think that kids express their hurt differently. And some kids don't want to talk about their hurt." Kyrie said, unable to look at the therapist.

Violet said, "Now it's my turn to talk. Since we have," again, she looked at her watch, "49 minutes." Kyrie smiled a bit, meeting Violet's eyes, which also held a bit of laughter. "Anyway, in my job, I see many kids who don't think they have anything to talk about. Or they don't want to talk about the things that they really should talk about. You know why?" When Kyrie shook her head no, Violet continued, "Because they don't understand how talk therapy works. They think that once they voice their fears, their pain, their anger, or shame – they think that once the words are in the air, that suddenly, their fears will become more real."

Kyrie understood completely.

Violet went on, "They can't imagine the idea of telling someone that they want everyone to just leave them alone. Just because they really miss the way things used to be. "Kyrie shivered. "Or that they are so angry at their mother because she wasn't there when they needed her the most. Or…" Violet paused, making sure that Kyrie was looking at her when she said, "… that they can't imagine the idea of telling someone that they wish they could run away and leave all the drama and family issues behind them."

 _How long has she been reading my mind?_ Kyrie wondered. "How on earth did you come to those conclusions?" She asked… almost curious to see how Violet knew all these things about her?

Violet looked dead at her and said, "I'm really good at what I do." Kyrie didn't think that was a good enough answer. But she kept talking, "And somehow, those kids who don't want to talk about all these things, they don't realize that I don't need to know the problem. I can already pretty much diagnose the problems without a word from my patients." She looked down at her hands, then again met Kyrie's eyes, "But patients can't see their problems. But they can hear them – so that's why we talk. And that's what makes things better."

Kyrie couldn't say anything. She just looked at Violet. And she let one tear escape her eyes. But she tried not to cry any more than she had to.

But it seemed like Violet really cared. Her eyes said she cared. There was something real and genuine about her.

"What do you want to know?" Kyrie asked. This time with no edge to her words.


	4. Chapter 4

_One Month Earlier_

"I just need to see you back here in two weeks to check on those stitches and make sure there's no underlying infections."

Jenny nodded as she signed the discharge papers, mentally making a list of all the things she needed to pack from the hospital room after her four week stay in the hospital. Turning her focus back to the doctor, she said, "Thank you so much for all the care these past weeks."

He smiled at her, "You're welcome, Jenny." Then, after glancing down at his paperwork, he said, "I am going to recommend to the agency that you are enrolled in therapy as soon as possible."

 _Not again._ Jenny thought. "I have completed the hospital requirement for psychological help these last few weeks, Doctor. You would still recommend more?" She asked, hoping that the tiny edge in her voice signaled that she would not want anything like that.

"We feel that in regards to debriefing your brain, you should be alright, because the hospital therapy focuses on the major traumatic experiences." He paused, then continued, "But with a stressful job, like yours, especially one that is very focused on trauma, we really recommend that for the next few months you see a psychologist that is equipped to handle that stress."

Jenny nodded, pretty sure she wouldn't fulfill the requirements. She had so much to do these next few weeks. Getting her job back from Leon, that asshole, finding a new home to live in, getting Kyrie into a good school with protection now that the world knew that the Director of NCIS had a daughter, and… Jethro, she had so much to do there. Therapy just wouldn't fit into that plan.

And the doctor seemed to know that was the case – after all, he had been in charge of her recovery since the beginning. But he made sure she was looking at him when he said, "But, in my professional opinion, your daughter needs therapy just as much, if not more, than you do, Jenny."

She didn't know what to say. _Kyrie seems a bit different lately_ She thought. It had been a roller coaster for the last few weeks. She just chalked her daughter's peculiar behavior to all the swirling emotions that Jenny herself had been experiencing. But she just wanted to get out of the hospital, get back into normal life. So she said what she thought the doctor would want to hear, "Sounds good. I'll look into therapy for the both of us."

She could tell he thought she was putting him off, just pleasing him. He opened his mouth to say something, but just at that moment, she heard the sweet Israeli voice coming from the doorway.

"Let's blow this socket.."

The confusion on the doctor's face made Jenny laugh at the entrance of one of her oldest friends, "Ziva!"

Ziva walked over to her, and gave her the usual Israeli greeting, a kiss on each cheek. "You look even better than you did yesterday."

Ziva's hair curled around her face, making pale Jenny even more jealous of her friend's wonderfully olive skin. Usual cargo pants, with her gun holstered to her waste, and her beautiful star of David necklace around her neck – Jenny was so glad to have her friend with her.

Jenny looked up at the doctor, waiting for him to finish discharging her. The look on his face was still one of confusion, while he just stared at Ziva. Jenny knew she must explain, causing a bit more laughter from her lips.

"She meant, 'blow this joint." Ziva looked at her in confusion, while the doctor's face changed to amused. Jenny continued, "Idioms are not her thing."

"I would hit you if you weren't injured." Ziva said, a slight smile on her face. The doctor gave Jenny some prescriptions to have filled, then left to finalize her discharge.

In that time, Ziva had pretty much packed all of the cards, flowers, and clothing that had accumulated in the room in the past few weeks. Soon, Ziva was wheeling her out of the hospital doors in her wheelchair – Jenny had protested, but both the nurses and her bodyguard, Ziva, had insisted that she at least take the wheelchair to the car. The car was already at the curb, and Tony stepped out to open the door and help Jenny get situated in the backseat.

"Now, Director, I really appreciate the opportunity to pick you up."

Jenny glared at him, but in a joking way as he helped her to her feet. "Dinozzo. I've missed you too."

He just smiled. His wonderfully adorable smile that made her smile even more. Before she knew it, they were in front of Ziva's apartment. "I really appreciate you letting us stay with you, Ziva."

Ziva nodded, and opened her mouth to say something, when the squealing form of Abbey came running down the sidewalk to where they were getting out of the car. "Director Shepard! Director Shepard! You're home!"

Jenny braced herself for one of Abbey's hugs, the love and care welcome, but the stitches in her side and bruised ribs just might not need the tight squeezing of the young Goth. But the hug that Jenny was bracing herself for didn't happen.

Tony grabbed Abbey just before she reached Jenny. "Ok, Abbs. I know you're excited about seeing the Director, but just give her some air."

Seeming to come to her senses, Abbey just smiled really big at Jenny, and said, "Well, air is always good. I'm so glad to see you're coming home." As they all started walking into the apartment, Ziva carrying in the bags, Tony helping Jenny limp along, holding her if she stumbled or had to pause for a second, Abbey looked around, and asked, "Where's Kyrie?"

Jenny looked up at Ziva in confusion. "Wasn't she here?"

Ziva shook her head, and said, "I stayed at the office late last night. Abbey came and stayed with her overnight."

All heads turned to Abbey.

She started wringing her hands, just as Jenny felt her stomach was. "She left early this morning in a taxi. She said she was going to the hospital to see you, Director."

Jenny's eyes immediately went to Tony's. "She wasn't there. She didn't come this morning."

Tony looked down at her, and she could see concern building in everyone's eyes. In fact, there was more concern in everyone's eyes than was in Jenny's.

Tony and Ziva's eyes met. Tony asked, "You don't think she started again?"

Ziva shook her head, but it wasn't convincing anyone around her. "I don't think… she's been clean…"

"What the hell are you all talking about?" Jenny frantically asked, "What is going on? Where is she? What is she doing?"

No one answered her so she repeated herself. "What the hell is going on?"

Tony made sure Ziva was close enough to Jenny just in case she fell, and then he turned and walked back to the car. "Take her to the house. Have abbey stay with the Director. Then come help me. I'll call the boss."

Ziva nodded.

And Jenny knew that something was terribly wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

"Come on, Boss. Just answer the damn phone." Tony mumbled to himself. When the last tone on the phone rang, sending his call to voicemail, he threw his phone in the empty passenger seat beside him. He had no idea what to do.

He knew he had all the training.

He knew that the next step was to try and track her phone, check whether she had any credit cards, and try to track the last place she had used them. He knew that the next step was to then put out a BOLO, alerting all of the different departments that they were looking for her.

And he knew to call all the hospitals in the area to make sure they didn't have a Jane Doe with Kyrie's description.

He also knew next to nothing about what to do if your boss, who was like a father figure to you, had a daughter with his other boss, the boss who had been kidnapped because of his failure to complete his job – when that daughter, who was a recovering narcotic addict, suddenly disappeared.

What the hell was he supposed to tell the boss? Or Jenny? Had they even talked about all that had gone on during the time that Jenny was supposedly dead? He cringed just thinking about how that would have gone over with the two of them – Gibbs with his hard, cold stare and unwillingness to give up on what he believed was right – and Jenny – with her take no shit attitude and her willingness to stand up to anyone when it came to something she believed in. He felt like the whole world would have heard if something like that had happened. And from the information from the squad at the hospital, Gibbs hadn't been to visit at all since the first time Kyrie had come to see her mother.

Just then his phone rang. He tried not to crash in his attempt to grab the phone from the seat. "Dinozzo."

"I'm tracking her phone right now." McGee. "She's downtown. Corner of 7th and Pennsylvania."

Whipping the car around, hearing tires squealing, he said, "I'm ten minutes out."

Ziva was there on the line with Tim. "Contact Gibbs yet?"

"No answer." Tony replied. "Any idea why she left?"

No answer.

Tony again spoke. "We are assuming it's the drugs?"

Again, no answer.

Sometimes putting fears into words made them hold more possibility.

Finally McGee spoke up. "I tracked the Boss' phone." His mousey voice carried over the speakers.

Tony smiled even just a little, despite the situation. "Mcspy, you really put your neck on the line."

McGee cleared his throat. "Signal shows him in the area also."

Now it was Tony's turn to be confused.

And Ziva's turn to panic. "Tony, you have to get there. If he finds her…"

Tony wanted her to finish her statement. But he didn't want her to finish her statement.

 _If he finds her in the middle of a drug deal, he'll kill the dealer._

 _If he finds her high, he's going to be so angry._

 _If he finds her overdosed on the side of the road…_

Tony was thankful that he didn't have to finish that statement.

He pulled up to the corner of the street. "McGee, I don't see her or Gibbs." He looked around.

The deserted street-corner was dimly lit, the few people walking by with their coats hats and scarves on to keep out the cold out – he couldn't get a good view of their faces. There were cars parked in all the spaces except for one right on the corner, which Tony pulled the car into and got out, turning around looking for anything that would signal that Kyrie or Gibbs were anywhere in the area.

 _His car._ Tony thought as he saw the car thrown into the parking spot without any care for how it was parked. The door of the driver's side was open, and Tony cringed knowing that there was something wrong if the boss left the door open.

On a hunch, he ran down the dark alley straight ahead, trusting his gut and finding his gut was right.

Gibbs had a punk up against the cement wall. By the throat. He couldn't see Gibb's face, but the perp with a tattooed face didn't look tough at all, his face pale, eyes wide, and struggling to breathe.

Dinozzo ran over to them, and tried to pull the boss off of the dude. "Boss. Let him go. I have the cuffs. Let him go."

Gibbs didn't move. He stopped squeezing the guy's throat, but didn't let him go.

Tony again assured him, pulling the handcuffs out of his back pocket. "Let's take him in. Make him serve jail time."

Gibbs threw him against the wall one more time before allowing Tony to handcuff the guy. Just for good measure, Tony tightened the cuffs quite tight, making sure that he would remember just how lucky this punk was that Tony had saved his ass.

Once he had him secured, he took in the rest of his surroundings.

Right behind the dumpster, the Boss knelt.

 _Is she?_ Tony's mind began racing. "What the hell did you do to her?" He asked the cuffed man. When he just smirked, Tony rattled the handcuffs, feeling the bones in the dude's arms pulling and threatening to break. Crying out in pain, he finally said, "I didn't do anything to that bitch. She just set me up."

Tony searched him. And he found three bags of white pills. He was devastated.

Gibbs was almost yelling. "Do you know what could have happened to you?"

Kyrie was now on her feet. And she had no trouble holding her own against her father. "I know how to handle myself."

"Really? How are you handling your drug addiction?"

Fire in her eyes matched her fiery hair. Her accent was so much more pronounced when she was angry, "Better than you're handling being a dad." Then she sarcastically pretended to think, and said, "Oh, wait, you're NOT handling it at all!"

With this, Gibbs just shook his head. "You are in no position to judge me at all."

She stared right into his eyes, and said, "But Mum is."

And Tony was shocked to see Gibbs look almost scared. Almost. He didn't think that Kyrie had seen it -that was how subtle it had been.

Tony now took the opportunity to interject and make the situation more awkward, or at least, to make the point that they should be getting out of this neighborhood. "Don't want to interrupt or anything, but this man has a date with destiny." He then pretended to look at the convict. And turned back to the two of them and said, "Nope, sorry, wrong one. He only has a pending court date."


End file.
